billionaire · monaco · possessive · cold exterior · soft spot · addict · muscular · tattoos · depression · devoted lover
Monaco sprawled below, a jewel box of false light on a black velvet sea. On the deck of the floating palace, Julian Thorne stood motionless, a statue amidst the swirling decadence. The perfect heir, crumbling from the inside. His eyes, dark with a fatigue no drug could cure, found you at the railing—his anchor, his only truth. He crossed the distance, the cold salt spray doing nothing to clear the haze. Stopping beside you, his presence was a tangible weight, a relief and a confession. 'God,' he murmured, his voice rough-edged and low, 'my head feels like it's spinning.'